


After Rain

by mark_my_words_tonight



Series: Alphabet Prompt Ficlets [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alastair Being an Asshole (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I did it again, Letter A, M/M, Oops, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 18:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20661545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mark_my_words_tonight/pseuds/mark_my_words_tonight
Summary: When Dean Winchester escapes from the compound he was held in, he finds himself desperate and alone. Then, during a terrible storm, he injures himself and is found by none other than Castiel Novak, a strange, eclectic man living in the forest. Facing your past is a difficult thing to do, and now, that's a challenge that he must face.





	After Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! Welcome to the first ficlet of this list; letter A. This prompt was given to me by my lovely friend, rauko-is-a-free-elf. She does some amazing work - with both writing and art -so you should definitely check out her [Tumblr!](https://rauko-is-a-free-elf.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This list will obviously contain twenty-six little ficlets. This one went a little over my estimation. This is why you shouldn't tell me to write short things because they become three thousand words long. In any case, this prompt was fantastic and definitely inspired me. I hope you all stick around to see the rest of the list!
> 
> This ficlet is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. I've been writing all day and I'm completely exhausted so my editing might not be up to par, hopefully, you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. Thank you, and as always, enjoy the story!
> 
> My Tumblr can be found [here](https://katekarnage7.tumblr.com/) and the post for this ficlet can be found [here.](https://katekarnage7.tumblr.com/post/187749195499/after-rain-destiel) Happy reading!

* * *

Dean trudges through the damp masses of leaves on the ground. Rain falls all around him, pattering softly on the leaves of the forest trees. Every inhale is sharp and freezes him to the bone.

His stomach growls loudly. It’s been days since he’s had anything to eat. He reflects on his decision to leave the compound. Maybe it really wasn’t the best idea. He immediately disregards that thought.

He had to leave. There wasn’t any other choice. The scars that burden his skin are proof enough of that. A bitter taste sullies his mouth at the memory. He hates his scars. They show everyone just how broken he truly is.

His backpack feels like it gets heavier with every step. Memories plague his mind. Every single bit of pain he endured comes back to haunt him. Even though he feels like he’s about to pass out, he keeps moving, those memories spurring him on.

There’s little doubt in his mind that Alastair will be coming after him soon enough. But he will do anything to keep himself from falling into that monster’s grasp. Not again. Not _ ever _again. He can still remember what Alastair had said to him on the first day.

_ “Don’t be scared, little one. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” _

Dean proceeded to attempt to escape forty-seven times over five years. He remembers each time like they were yesterday. He would get thrown in solitary or in the punishment room every single time. And every single time, he would try to break out again. It was a vicious cycle.

  
He still can’t believe that he’s out. Truly out. Flashes of those left behind will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. Kevin, Ash, Benny… He had to leave all of them behind. That bitter taste resurfaces. He’ll get them out someday. Someday soon, hopefully.

He just needs to find some shelter. Eat properly. Then he’ll be strong enough to tear down Alastair’s operation piece by nightmarish piece. Only then will he be satisfied. He shivers as the rain begins to pick up.

The soft patter of rain against the treetops gives way to the rumbling of thunder. It’s a full-on storm now. Gusts of wind hit him full force as he traverses the terrain. The forest floor is slippery and laden with rocks and sudden drops.

Any wrong move could potentially end his life. No pressure, right? The worst part is that he doesn’t even know where he’s going. He had no map, to begin with. He just got out of the compound and ran like a bat out of hell.

A realization hits him. If he doesn’t get out of this forest and back to civilization soon… He might starve to death before he can save his friends. There’s a strike of lightning somewhere off in the distance.

Panic overtakes him.

He begins running through the forest. Rain berates him as he dodges through the trees. Moments later, he slips on a wet rock and topples down into a ditch. The last thing he remembers is the gray sky overhead and the rain softly falling onto his face.

\---

He slowly wakes up, keeping his eyes closed. He’s warm and comfortable, something that he never thought possible. There’s a pleasant smell in the air. It makes his stomach growl. His eyes snap open.

The first thing that he registers is the bed he’s laying in. Certainly not his old one at the compound. His bed in the compound couldn’t even be considered a bed. No, this… This is a real bed.

His eyes then land on the door on the far side of the small room. There’s one window off to his left and a dresser next to the door. Other than that, the bedroom is mostly barren of any decorations.

The second thing that he registers is that he definitely isn’t wearing his own clothes. Whatever he’s wearing now is far softer. He looks down to find a gray cotton shirt and wool pajama bottoms.

They’re like nothing he’s ever worn in his life. Not to mention the fact that they’re clean and dry. Totally different from his wet and extremely dirty clothes. He takes a deep breath. That heavenly scent fills his nostrils again.

It smells like soup. Almost tomatoey. Like something his mother would’ve made when he was a kid. His heart pangs at the memory. All in one, his memories rush back. He remembers breaking out of the compound. He remembers the storm. He remembers falling and hitting his head.

A sudden realization overtakes him. _ Is this what Heaven looks like? A little room in a cabin somewhere? _He examines the wooden paneling around him. Definitely a cabin. He never really believed in Heaven as a kid.

Even when his mother said, ‘Angels are watching over you’, he never really believed her. Maybe this _ is _his version of Heaven. Or maybe it’s the starter pack you get when you die. A little cabin in the woods.

Worse ways to wake up, he supposes. 

When he was in the compound, he often wondered what it would be like to die. What would happen after. Sometimes, he prayed for death. Anything would’ve been better than his reality in those days.

He’s pretty damn sure that none of his friends - they were more family than friends to him, really - would’ve agreed. Benny, the big teddy bear he is - was? - could always find something positive. He used to shoulder most of the responsibility and workload. Especially when someone else was in need of help.

Death due to dehydration and starvation was all too common in the compound. Sometimes a person would just drop dead. The worst part was that it was usually kids, fucking _ kids _, who would die.

Their bodies just weren’t equipped to handle all of that exertion without proper nutrition. Even the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed new kids would get worn out soon enough. Then, eventually, you would start to see the signs.

Dark circles under the eyes, sadness burdening every feature, and this overwhelming sense of exhaustion. Those were common in just about everyone at the compound. When those signs started to build up, there were two common outcomes; one, they would drop dead. Or two… Two, they wouldn’t wait to drop dead. They’d just… 

Well, exhaustion would build up. After a few escape attempts, most stopped trying. That’s when resignation usually set in. That’s why, about two months after they’d get some new ‘recruits’, there’d be a breakout of suicides.

People would use just about anything they could get their hands on to end it all.

A clap of lightning from outside breaks his trance. He winces. He hates thunder and lightning. It always frightened him as a child and it still does now. _ Lightning in Heaven? _He thinks. And then he realizes that this is in fact, not Heaven. He brings a hand up to his head. Sure enough, there’s a bandage over what must be a cut.

His head is pounding and his body aches. This definitely isn’t Heaven. Which means… How the hell did he get to this cabin? Why did his new captor bandage him up and put him in fresh clothing? What in the absolute hell is going on?

There’s a soft clatter from outside of his room. He sits straight up. He’s not cuffed to the bed like he feared he might be. He’s free to move around. Immediately, he jumps out of the bed, being as silent as possible.

Whoever put him here is a new enemy. A new thing to fear. He searches around the room for anything to use as a weapon. There’s nothing. Not even a goddamn vase. He hears footsteps outside of the door and freezes.

The door is pulled open and the form of a man steps through. He’s shorter than Dean. Not substantially. Probably by a few inches or so. Still, it’s enough to restore some confidence in him. Even if he is a gangly nineteen-year-old.

The man turns to face him. He’s holding a bowl of soup with some sourdough bread on a plate. “Ah, good. You’re awake,” the man says in a deep, rumbling voice. It’s almost as if he ate a whole bowl of gravel before coming in.

Dean decides to stay silent, examining the man carefully. He looks to be about late twenties, early thirties in age. He has messy black hair and the bluest goddamn eyes that Dean thinks he’s ever seen. There’s so much intelligence in the man’s features.

It almost throws him off. Almost.

“How do you feel?” the man asks. Once again, Dean says nothing. The man simply stands there, watching him. It feels like a perverted staring contest. Silence hangs in the air.

The man clears his throat. “That cut was quite deep, you know. I’m worried about an infection. Perhaps I need more antibiotics.”

Dean bites his lip. Confusion and suspicion go to war in his mind. On one hand, if this man were planning on killing him, why the hell would he patch him up? Where’s the logic in that? Or maybe he’s planning on using him just like Alastair did.

Or maybe… Just maybe… This guy isn’t bad. Maybe he’s just a good human being. He immediately throws that idea in the trash bin. Everyone Dean Winchester ever met has had an ulterior motive.

With the exception of those in the compound. But even those folks… They were just trying to minimize the pain and loneliness. God, the _ loneliness _. “Do you have a name? Or something I can call you, perhaps?” the man asks, snapping him back to reality.

“I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m Castiel,” the man, Castiel, says. He sits down on the edge of the bed, offering the soup and the plate of bread to Dean. “Please take this. You look quite hungry.”

He stares at Castiel for a long, hard moment. Distrust and suspicion are overtaken by hunger. A proper meal sounds heavenly. And, as much as he wishes he could, he can’t deny it. If he ends up needing to fight his way out of this cabin, being well-fed will be an advantage. 

At least, that’s how he rationalizes it.

He walks over to Castiel and takes the bowl and backs away. He still doesn’t trust this stranger. And he’s not about to sit next to him and pretend that they’re all buddy-buddy now. He’ll accept the food though.

He picks up the spoon and takes an experimental sip. He almost moans at the taste. It’s better than anything he’s had in a long time. Somehow, it tastes exactly how he remembers his mother’s lentil soup.

There’s something so familiar and comforting about it.

He looks up to see Castiel examining him. His head is tilted and he seems to be in deep thought. Belatedly, he realizes that he hasn’t actually said anything to the guy yet. And, presumably, Castiel saved him from a miserable death out in the wilderness. 

That doesn’t mean he can trust him but… There’s something about the guy that he just can’t put his finger on.

He clears his throat. “Dean. You can call me Dean,” he says. His reward comes in the form of a gummy smile from Castiel. God, it’s breathtaking. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen a smile like that. It’s so genuine and happy. It’s almost infectious.

He has to remind himself that Castiel could potentially be dangerous. Some part of him doesn’t want to believe him. He silences that part immediately. He did _ not _come this far to get killed by his own naiveté.

Dean Winchester knows better than to trust strangers. Still, though, there’s something so trustable about Castiel. Maybe it’s those eyes. God. He mentally slaps himself. _ Get it together, Winchester! _

Silence hangs around them for a few moments. The soft patter of rain outside is the only sound filling the air. Just then, a bolt of lightning strikes. He jumps so hard that he drops the bowl and plate onto the floor. They shatter into a million pieces.

Castiel is on his feet in a matter of seconds. He rushes to Dean’s side. “Are you okay?” he asks, not quite touching him but standing very close with his hands up. Dean nods, confusion overtaking him. He has no idea why the hell this guy is being so gentle with him.

Right now though, he doesn’t care. He can’t help the panic in his chest as a clap of thunder rumbles outside. Part of him wants to bury himself in the blankets of the bed and honestly, he can’t come up with a better idea.

So, like a child, he hurries to the bed and buries himself in the comfort of the blankets. He can feel himself trembling. Every part of him hates this. He hates how fucking _ weak _he is. Weakness was never accepted in the compound.

He should be able to suck it up by now.

Suddenly, a weight pushes down on the bed. “Dean?” Castiel’s soft voice calls out. He puts a hand on Dean’s knee. The urge to kick it away is strong but, for some reason, he doesn’t. It’s comforting. Comfort isn’t something he gets all that often.

“Are you scared of thunder and lightning?” The question comes out so softly. Shame bubbles up inside of him. He’s not scared. He’s not. Fear is for the weak. And Dean Winchester is anything but weak.

“No,” he spits out. Castiel squeezes his knee. The presence of touch from another human being is so… Foreign. He hasn’t felt a comforting touch in a long time. In the compound, you weren’t allowed to touch anyone.

You just got touched. The overseers would make sure of that. If you did something wrong… He shudders at the thought. He saw horrible things in there. Horrible, horrible fucking things. Things that no one should ever have to see.

The compound was a nightmare. One that he hopes he’ll never have to go back to. He hates every scar that mars his skin. That’s a thought that lives in his mind, repeating itself over and over.

Dean hates reminders of the past. That’s what scars are. Plain and simple.

Castiel sighs softly. Almost too softly for him to hear. Almost. He needs to figure out what the hell this guy’s intentions are. Something about him is off putting. But not really in a bad way. Which makes absolutely no sense to him.

“Come and sit by the fire. It’ll make you feel better, I promise. And then, perhaps, if you feel up to it, you could have something to eat.”

Dean wants to argue. He wants to tell this man that he’s not hungry and that he doesn’t need his help. But, of course, his stomach has to choose that moment to growl like the insatiable beast that it is.

Castiel’s weight disappears from the bed. Dean slowly pulls the blankets down and away from his face. His strange savior is kneeling down and picking up the pieces of shattered ceramic. Everything about the guy is weird, from his too-blue eyes to his clothes that look like they haven’t been washed in five years.

But even Dean will admit that he’s gorgeous. That hair, those eyes… That body. Yeah, no, he’s built like a Greek god. He slowly gets out of bed, his eyes still trained on Castiel whose back is to him.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, he just watches Castiel pick up piece upon piece of ceramic. He does it so tenderly that it’s almost like watching a mama bear pick up its cub. Which is a weird analogy, yes, but Dean stands behind it.

Castiel eventually stands up and turns around. Their eyes meet and wow… Just wow… Castiel’s eyes are the bluest blue that Dean thinks he’s ever seen in his life. Icebergs, the sky, and the ocean all dull in comparison to those eyes.

And there’s a perfect amount of stubble on that strong jawline. It makes him look rugged but still inexplicably gorgeous. And Dean never thought he’d be calling another man gorgeous, but here he is.

Now that he’s not afraid of Castiel - especially since he has at least three inches on him - he can marvel at the other man’s beauty. Perfectly chiseled features. Oh, god. Dean is really, really, just majorly fucked.

Castiel clears his throat. “Would you, um, like to warm up?”

All Dean can do is nod. He doesn’t trust himself with words right now, seeing as the words ‘Kiss me’ could come out more easily than he cares to admit. And, again, there’s something about Castiel which sparks something in Dean other than just sexual attraction. Oh, yeah, he’s really fucked.

Castiel leads him out into the main room. The room is very… Welcoming and warm. There’s a fireplace on the right side of the room. A couch sits in front of the fireplace. There’s a big shag rug in between the two with a coffee table on top of it.

In the left-hand corner, there’s a kitchenette with all the essentials including a microwave. There’s also a dining table off to his left. And all of it is crammed into the small main room of this cabin. It’s so peaceful.

A family could live here. The roaring fire in the fireplace, the blanket that has been thrown over the back of the couch, the picture frames on the mantel… It seems like a family _ should _live here. But they don’t. At least, not to his knowledge.

“Feel free to sit down,” Castiel says with a gesture towards the couch. He nods and crosses over to it. He sits down and immediately sinks into the comfort of the couch. In the compound, there wasn’t comfort like this to be had.

Everything was cold and hard. The comparison is like night and day. Here, everything is warm and soft. Including Castiel himself. _ Knock it off with that train of thought. _He’s certain that the guy who saved his life wouldn’t appreciate those thoughts.

Instead, he decides to focus on the aching pain in his body. He knows that he must look like complete and utter shit. But he hasn’t actually seen himself in a mirror in years. He wonders what he looks like now.

The beauty of the roaring flames in front of him takes his attention. He runs a hand over his face. Fingers dance over coarse stubble. A mirror would be fantastic right about now. Exhaustion pours over him.

He shakes his head. He cannot focus on exhaustion right now. That would be the wrong move. There’s no time for wrong moves. Not when all his friends are still locked up in that compound. He needs to save them. There’s no other option.

That’s his only goal.

Just then, Castiel sits down next to him, a new bowl of soup in his hands. He offers it to Dean with a small smile on his face. Dean takes the bowl and immediately, it warms his hands. He takes a small sip and warmth spreads through him.

“I do have a question for you, Dean,” Castiel says. Dean looks over to see the other man eyeing him carefully.

“Shoot.”

Castiel tilts his head slightly and oh, boy, Dean has to try really hard to not find it completely adorable. “Where did you come from?”

And there it is. The question he was dreading. He sighs, knowing that he has to answer, because if he doesn’t, Castiel might become suspicious and throw him out. Which would absolutely suck.

He clears his throat. “Um, heh, I… There’s a f-facility, north of here, I think.”

Castiel visibly pales. “Alastair’s compound?”

He blinks. “How’d you know?” A thought slips into his head, completely unbidden. What if Castiel _ is _actually one of Alastair’s men? He edges away from Castiel, already forming a plan to run. An escape route at the front of his mind.

Castiel sighs heavily. “I’ve been trying to take down Alastair’s slave operation for years. I… Well, I work for the FBI. They sent me out here to keep an eye on the compound.”

He relaxes a little. An FBI agent, well then. He clears his throat. “My, um, my friends are still in there, Cas. I… I need to save them. I promised.”

Castiel nods, apparently not noticing or not caring about the nickname. “I understand. I promise that we’ll take Alastair down, Dean.” Castiel puts a gentle hand on his leg. And for once, Dean doesn’t wince. The contact is actually welcome.

And then… God, Dean has the strangest urge. He looks directly into Cas’s eyes. Their gorgeous blue color is intoxicating. He knows that he shouldn’t be feeling like this. The two of them had _ just met _for God’s sake! But… Wow, he is gorgeous.

Then, suddenly, he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Cas’s, which elicits a small gasp from the other man. For a moment, the world is entirely forgotten. It’s just them. And Dean knows that all of this is ridiculous.

He should not be kissing this man who he’s just met but he can’t stop himself. Cas is just so… Gorgeous. And kind, too. That much is clear to Dean. If that isn’t enough to be attracted to a person, he doesn’t know what is.

In what could be seconds, minutes, hours, or eternities later, Cas pulls away. His eyes are determined as he stares into Dean’s. “We’ll save your friends. That’s my promise.” A bolt of lightning strikes outside.

The soft patter of rain on the roof rings out. Castiel smiles a little. “Just as soon as the storm passes.” A chuckle spills from Dean’s lips. 

Just as soon as the storm passes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading letter A of my list. I'm super excited to hear what you all think of it! And a big thanks to everyone who sent me prompts, you're greatly appreciated! Much love.


End file.
